


Nymphaea

by Ziel



Category: Naruto
Genre: Amegakure, F/F, Gen, Lesbian Crush, Mentor/Protégé, One-Sided Attraction, Piercings, Team Fluff, Team as Family, Umbrellas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-04 01:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10263629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziel/pseuds/Ziel
Summary: An Ame kunoichi begins exchanging messages with a fascinating stranger. Mentorship and family ensue. (OC and Konan-centric)





	1. Chapter 1

Amegakure had levels.

It was a city built of them. A layer cake growing up from pylons sunk so deep enough into the lakebed that they touched the center of the world. The next layer was pumps. Like the air bladders that kept aquatic plants afloat, Ame was kept where it was by a sprawling root system of pumps and pipes. The poorest citizens were forced to live with the ever present thrum of pumping machinery, and it was said that a true Ame resident’s heart beat in time with the pumps themselves.

The next layer was houses. Apartments. Buildings. The strata of any city. There were even a handful of parks. Difficult for an artificial city, but not impossible with the jutsu out there.

Izumi lived in the housing layer. Midway up, just before the apartments became really comfortable in any way. Her apartment was a single, and just big enough for her futon in the evenings, and a kotatsu during the day.

It was the kotatsu she was thinking of at present. The rains had been cold that day, catching an unseasonable chill that cut away the usual humidity and replaced it with bite. Her umbrella and raincoat hadn’t done much against the horizontal spray of rain that always kicked up when she crossed the higher sky-bridges.

Most of Ame’s important places were higher up, in the upper levels of towering buildings. The Academy, in a design idea she was sure was sadism, was at the tip-top of a fat government building. Getting there, for her, required five separate sky-bridges and a detour through the redlight district.

Feet heavy with a long day of training, Izumi plodded home. She’d reached the stage of wetness where it stopped mattering so much, because there weren’t really measurable grades between ‘drenched’ and ‘soaked.’

The real annoyance was the sopping bandage wrapped around her left palm. They’d been doing weapon practice that day, and she’d fumbled a kunai and grabbed for it without thinking. Her sensei had wrapped the wound up and told her to get back to work. Typical. Her sensei was more scar tissue than human.

She’d need to clean it when she got home. Dealing with the moisture was something every Ame nin learned on day one of Academy. Izumi’s understanding was that it was something along the lines of ‘if you can deal with omnipresent, torrential rain, you can deal with anything. Now treat that before it falls off.’

She shook her hand slightly, wincing at the little flash of pain it generated. She used her elbow to push open the door into the shopping complex. The air inside was musty, filled with the scent of too much incense and too many bodies.

Folding her umbrella, she descended a flight of stairs into the area proper. The crowd there was middling, just beginning to bustle. The civilians had started getting off work, so the redlights were filling up. She wove between them, using her elbows and umbrella to shove past anyone who dragged their feet.

The shopkeeps and workers had long since grown used to her, so no one got in her way, though a few civilians did double-takes when she passed. Izumi rolled her eyes. There was never anything fun to see out in the open anyway. She’d had her run of the kinkier shops once she figured out henge, but she’d ended up too embarrassed to buy anything. Not that she had the money for any of the fun stuff anyway.

She umbrellaed her way through a knot of rough looking laborers arguing over who got to take the first run at the best whore at that particular shop. The woman, who was admittedly very pretty, looked more bored than anything. She was casting seductive smiles at the men, now rifling through their wallets to check funds, but her eyes were flat. Uninterested.

Izumi hurried on, her skin crawling.

There was nothing wrong with _that_. Everyone had to make their own way, and not everyone could be fortunate enough to be ninja. If she hadn’t had chakra, she might well be there herself. 

But gods, it was just so…  _gross_ .

She paused at a junction in the path. A staircase would take her down into the next leg of her walk, while going straight would lead to her favorite shop in the district.

A raucous cheer came from behind her, as one of the men won the honor of going first. Izumi shuddered, her uninjured hand white-knuckled around her umbrella.

As much as she wanted to leave, she needed something to get the taste of that scene out of her mouth.

She went straight.

The adult bookstore sat at the end of the aisle, sandwiched between a ramen shop and a shop peddling some exotic leather goods. It was small, no bigger than five by five meters, but every inch was crammed with merchandise. It was a maze of floor to ceiling shelves, all filled and double-stacked with books and magazines.

The shopkeep nodded to her as she entered. The old man was good people. His prices were cheap enough for her to afford on the shoestring budget Ame provided for orphans, and he didn’t give a frig if she was twelve or twenty-seven.

It didn’t take long for her to navigate through the stacks to her favorite shelf.

_Novels._

This was the good stuff. Not just smut or bodice rippers, but books with actual plot to go with the dirty parts. That was what made them interesting. Smut was just… meaningless. It was like watching those men debate over buying a whore. Anonymous strangers rutting. People she didn’t care about.

The center of the novel  section was dominated by the orange spines of the Icha Icha series, but she’d never had much taste in them. A little too  obviously written by a man. Written one-handed by a man. Blech. 

She’d torn through the Lily of the Valley saga, and was waiting for the next one to come out- it hadn’t yet. The author was apparently ‘doing research.’ But the books had ads in the back for stuff from the same publisher. 

She snagged a couple of those, perusing the different series for something that caught her taste. The first went back on the shelf. Too dry. The second and third were apparently sequels to series she’d never heard of. The fourth was about a duo of female bounty hunters, scrapping away to survive, both of them apparently very much inclined toward the fairer sex. Seemed like it was as much about their struggles and friendship as it was about the girl on girl.

_Nice_ . She checked the shelf- the book had a sequel, which she grabbed as well, before making her way up to the owner.

She had to dig through her change purse to get enough for both of them, and she wouldn’t have any spare cash until her next payday, but she left the shop with her head held high, books wrapped up under her arm.

Leaving the redlight was like coming clean. Not just because it was pouring once again, but because the air outside was cool and fresh, thick with the taste of the rain. It was the kind of shower she’d normally walk through without an umbrella, but her books were still clenched in one hand, and it was a long way home.

She squelched across the skybridge from the redlight, passing through an apartment building before descending a spiral staircase to a lower rooftop. The foot-traffic was lighter now. Though not rich enough to live higher up, most of the people who lived here were still affluent enough to take in the entertainment district after work. Even now the bridges and pass-throughs of the district would be filling with families, out on the town after a long week at work.

Izumi paused on her next bridge, looking down. A pavilion was set up on an open area just below. Stalls and kiosks thronged with customers, moving with the same vibrancy the redlight had had, but none of the filth. There would be more than just families down there. Some of her classmates, surely. The ones with spending money, and people to spend it with. Friends. Dates. Parents.

She sighed, hefted her armful of smut, and continued on.

The final stretch to her building was a long, arching bridge that spanned one of the main roads in Ame. More elaborate in design than most bridges, this one was framed with red arches, almost like _torii_ , and a number of statues stood facing out over the road, greeting guests to Ame with raised hands and open arms.

The largest was at the center, a massive arch stood over a bronze statue as big as an elephant. It was two-sided, one facing the street, another facing the bridge. A man, his legs folded under him, left hand held up, index and middle finger raised, the others curled inward. His right was in his lap, holding a lotus flower. Ten other arms emerged from behind him, each holding an object or making a hand-sign.

His features were indistinct- something she’d never liked about this statue. Other artisans would cast their depictions of God with various elements, horns, halos, crowns, tears, etc. But this one was not. All it had was a smooth, bald head, and odd, wide eyes. It was hard to tell, but she thought the sculptor might have given the statue mandalas for eyes. Weird.

There were two boxes in front of it. One with a slot in the top, and another that was open on one side. Izumi stopped, pulled the last few coins from her purse, and dropped them in the box. Basically broke was the same as broke.

She pressed her palms together in a quick prayer. “God, please help the money go to someone who needs it.” The whore’s face flashed through her mind. Flat, empty eyes, like a statue’s. _Could have been her._ “And… protect me from misfortune?”

It didn’t feel like enough, so she went to the second box. The wish box. This one was larger, more of an enclosed bulletin board, with hundreds of paper slips clipped to it. A stack of blank slips and a pen were in a little basket in the bottom.

Izumi pulled one free and paused, pen hovering over it. The words were there. _I wish no one would have to sell themselves to live_. But it felt hollow. She was just as lustful and foul as the clients who bought the whores. And she’d thought of it before. Entertained the idea of doing it. Buying one.

She just… it wasn’t what she wanted, but it was _close._ That was love, wasn’t it? Sort of?

Izumi sighed. She put the pen down.

Her eyes trailed across the other slips.

_‘_ _Help my son find work.’_

_‘My father is a ninja, please get him home safe.’_

_‘I am too weak to do the right thing. Help me be better.’_

_‘Avenge my family on Konoha.’_

Her gaze settled on an odd shape in the bottom corner. Not a slip. She blinked, and looked closer.

It was an origami flower. One of the paper slips had been written on, then folded dozens of times into an ornate blossom, more detailed than even the lotus sitting in the statue’s lap. A crossbreeze rustled the slips and shifted the minute inner petals of the flower.

Izumi stared. It was… beautiful. Most of the slips had gotten at least a little splashed with rain by now, and were kind of melty, but the flower was tucked away in the corner, protected from the water. Immaculate.

Her free hand rose, and was already reaching out for it when she caught herself.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

That was someone’s wish to God, written on paper to give it substance. A disclosure of their most heartfelt desires.

But… what kind of person would make a wish like that? Stand out here in the rain for however long it took to fold the flower.

What had they wished for?

Her hand inched closer.

“This is fucked up. _Seriously_.”

Maybe God had meant for her to see this message and be inspired by it? Or maybe that was an excuse so thin she couldn’t even pretend to believe it.

Her fingertips brushed paper.

Izumi _wanted it._ More than she’d wanted the books, or new kunai this morning, or someone to walk the festival with in the evening. She wanted to look at the flower and see what it said, because maybe, just maybe, the person who’d made it was someone who… who… _wanted_ too.

Her hand closed around it like a baby bird, not daring to hold tight for fear of crushing it.

Izumi turned and ran, heels kicking up spray as she hurtled along the final bridge to her apartment building. She came in from the rain, clutching her books and umbrella under one arm, the flower in her hand, held out like a sacred relic, and didn’t stop running until she slid into the dim hallway where her door was.

17-H opened and closed. She locked it behind her and slumped against the door. Her clothes were wet, clinging to her back, and the bag of books finally slipped away to thud against the floor.

She sank down, following the bag to the ground.

Izumi opened her hand slowly.

The flower was unharmed, maybe a tiny bit misty from her run through the rain, but otherwise undamaged. Black lines ran across the petals at random, bits and pieces of the larger message broken up by the folds.

She licked dry lips, staring at it, trying to decode the words there.

It was impossible. She’d never know unless she unfolded it.

And once it was unfolded, the holiness of the flower would be gone. It wouldn’t just be something she stole, but something she desecrated as well. There would be no returning it.

But she’d gone this far. And she needed to know.

She tugged the smallest petal in the center. The paper was so delicate that she let go immediately, fearing that she’d torn it.

It took her another minute to recover after that, her heart pounding at the idea of tearing the slip.

She started from the outside this time. The calyx, the outer layer of flower that shielded the rest. Izumi pressed it down, nudging it away from the main body with gentle pokes.

From there it was just a matter of teasing apart the layers until it unfolded. She fiddled with it, working with surgical precision, before it finally, randomly, just _clicked_ , and the layers split apart. The flower wasn’t one slip- it was three, twisted together to form something greater.

The first two slips were blank.

It was only the last, that had formed the core of the flower, that was written on.

Izumi held it, not looking at it until the last folds were undone.

It was written not in pen, but in ink. A woman’s delicate brushstrokes curved and curled across the page, as much a work of art as the flower itself, ruined now by the creases.

_‘_ _The man I loved is dead. The man I love is dying. I am terrified to be alone again.’_


	2. 2

2

Izumi barely slept that night.

Panic had set in when she realized the magnitude of what she’d just done. Stealing from _God_. She spent hours pacing her apartment, homework forgotten on the floor, circling the unfolded flower now sitting on her little table.

Fear eventually gave way to dread, and she forced herself to go to bed. She expected to lie awake for hours, but sleep came quickly, creeping up on a mind exhausted from working itself into tighter and tighter knots.

Her dreams were muddled and murky. Half-glimpsed, remembered only in flashes of clutching hands and judging eyes.

She woke twice before morning, each time jerking up at some change in the background noise. The constant patter of rain on the awning over her tiny balcony. The wind picking up and rattling the door in its frame. Her tired mind imagined the rain stopping, as it only did when God descended to walk the streets, coming to judge her crime.

Morning was a stiff, jagged affair, dragging herself out of her futon and staggering through her routine. Any sense of relief or reprieve from her sleep lasted only seconds, as her mind dutifully whirred into action and regurgitated exactly why she felt so awful.

Izumi made it halfway through breakfast before she remembered her homework, and the papers due today. She decided she didn’t care, though the blank pages did nothing for the weight currently bearing down on her.

Attending school was another story. She hovered, sandals in hand, pacing again, glancing between the door and window.

Would not going be more suspicious? Or would she turn up to the academy and find a crowd waiting, already organized to punish her?

It was finally the thought of lingering in the apartment all day, bouncing off walls growing closer and closer until she finally went nuts and confessed, that got her to leave.

She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her box-lunch, and departed.

The rain was lighter this morning, closer to a gentle misting than an actual downpour. To Izumi, it felt like it was moments away from becoming nothing at all, as God came down for her.

She wasn’t tremendously religious. Her parents, judging by the few belongings she had of them, had been devout, but that had been before God came to Ame. She didn’t pray more than a little, and only ever at a shrine.

But God had earned his title. A man powerful enough to ascend to a deity. Who single-handedly united a nation gripped by centuries of war.

Someone who knew every inch of the land beneath his rain.

He _knew_.

She fretted all the way to school.

Her homeroom was mostly empty; she’d arrived earlier than usual, but she took her seat and waited for it to fill. Her classmates were predominately boys, and weren’t really interested in talking to her. The few kunoichi in the class were almost entirely from clans, and the two that weren’t were both from high enough social classes among civilians that she didn’t really have anything in common with them.

There were other orphans, other civilian-descended ninja, and they might talk on normal days, but today Izumi wasn’t having it.

She was twisting a lock of gray-green hair around her fingers, coiling it in repetitive, neurotic motions, well before the teacher made his appearance.

XXX

It was a day as close to Hell as she could imagine. Every raised voice or loud noise, every approaching set of footsteps in the corridor outside the classroom. It was all distorted. Everything became oncoming doom. Her judgment, in everything that caught her eye.

Izumi twitched and flinched her way through classes until lunch. She begged off from the usual crowd of casual acquaintances and made for the bathroom. Her stomach was already roiling, and the scent of food, the idea of eating, sent her gorge rising. She made it to the sink- nowhere near the toilet, just in time to heave up half-digested breakfast and spew until there was nothing left by sour bile and her heart pounding in her ears.

Her afternoon sensei had just entered the classroom when she returned. He was a career chunin, keen enough to take one look at her pale face and raw lips, and ask her if she was feeling well.

Izumi had to shake her head. The urge to spill her guts- literally and figuratively, was too strong.

He sent her home.

Izumi went.

It felt like walking to the gallows.

The ever-present terror was greater now. The streets were less densely populated with most citizens at work, but every stranger, every noise around a corner was magnified into that same doom. The relative quiet and solitude only made it worse. She was _alone_ , walking through hostile territory.

She moved quickly across bridges and paths- another route today to avoid the redlight – God would see and judge, and that would only incur more wrath, wouldn’t it? Legs shifting between scarecrow stiff and ramen limp, Izumi sleepwalked her way home.

She looked up, expecting to see the entrance to her apartment bloc.

The golden face of the God statue looked down at her, his ringed eyes stern and disapproving.

Her feet had carried her to the scene of the crime.

Izumi dropped to the ground. Her knees scraped concrete, landing in a puddle, but she stayed down.

“I’m sorry.”

She bowed. Hands forward, her face pressed flat against the cold stone, bangs soaking in the puddle.

“Please forgive me.”

There was no response. No crash of thunder. No massive, golden hand coming down to smash her like an insect.

Izumi rose slowly, still kneeling. Something warm slid down her cheek, and it took her a moment to realize she was crying. Hot tears joined raindrops.

“What should I do?”

No response.

“Please.”

Golden eyes held her in place.

Izumi shuddered, frantically looking over the shrine for a sign, an inspiration.

Her gaze found the source of all the trouble.

The wish box.

But she couldn’t just bring the pages back. The message was already read, the flower unfolded. It was done.

And wishing for forgiveness? That was just… _stupid_. You didn’t wish for something like that. You had to make it happen.

She came to her feet. Moved toward the box.

Some of the slips were the same, some different. There was no origami slip though.

_Of course there wasn’t._

She needed to write a slip though. That much felt certain. The pieces were falling into place.

Izumi needed to write something, write back to make this right.

Write… _back._

She repeated the thought in her head a couple times.

Her eyes went wide.

“Of course!”

She snatched up the pen and a slip.

Stopped.

What to write though?

The previous message had been a woman baring her heart and soul. Her deepest fears.

She was halfway through writing before she scribbled it out and crumpled up the slip. She pocketed the ball and began anew.

It took four more tries before she had something legible and _right_.

It needed a be a trade. Paying karma for karma, otherwise she’d be doomed for sure.

A secret revealed in return.

 _‘_ _I’m alone too. I worry that I’ll always be alone. That being an orphan means always being that way.’_

And a wish.

 _‘_ _I wish that the origami woman would find someone so she isn’t alone. That her love may live. Trade my lot for hers, o God, please. Let me be alone and unloved she won’t have to be.’_

It took her another half-dozen fiddly attempts with practice sheets before she got the origami down. It looked… she grimaced. It looked like dog shit. Like a little kid having their first go at the hobby.

It was supposed to be a cat. It was cat-like, if she tilted her head to the side. Two legs, boxy head, and a stub tail.

But it was complete, and it wasn’t getting any better.

Izumi pinned it up in the corner of the box where the flower had been.

Above her, the statue was still and silent, a sentinel in the rain.

She pressed her palms together, said a quick prayer for forgiveness, and then ran like hell for home.

XXX

She woke the next morning in a tangle of damp, sweaty blankets. Getting out of her futon was an ordeal, all feeble limbs and panting breaths.

She’d gotten so stressed that it had actually made her sick.

Not that she didn’t have reason to stress.

It was only desperate hope that let her believe her return slip would be an acceptable trade for the flower. Because the alternative meant that divine retribution was still coming.

Or maybe that getting sick was just the beginning? Bad karma snowballing until she was buried under the weight of her sins.

The thought sent her heart pounding in a way that made her dizzy. Might have just been the fever.

Academy wasn’t happening today. She’d be lucky to make the walk there without collapsing, and her nerves were still frayed to the breaking point.

Huffing and puffing with the effort of moving, Izumi crawled back into bed. Her apartment didn’t ever face the sun directly, so it was constantly dim and gloomy. The perfect environment for her to sink back into a sleep mired in fever dreams.

Waking for the second time wasn’t any easier. Her sweat-soaked t-shirt was half-twisted around her body, and she’d shifted during sleep in such a way as to leave an awful kink in her neck.

She stripped, showered, and dressed in the loose clothes she usually wore when lazing about.

It was… not so much easier to be calm now as it was that she’d gone numb. What was going to happen would happen. She’d done her part, now it was time to see what God’s choice would be.

She giggled weakly at the thought.

Breakfast- lunch? She glanced at the clock. Lunch found her rummaging through the tiny kitchenette for something to eat. Just moving about was tiring, and her head was thudding dully, but there was nothing that could be easily made to eat.

She finally sighed and dropped the can of soup stock back into the cupboard.

There was a food stand a couple levels down on one of the main roads. Not more than a five minute walk normally.

Izumi bundled up, pulling on the heavy raincoat she used in the winter. It was too warm for it, but that was the fever talking. And getting soaked would only make it worse.

Her wallet was empty. She bit her lip before dipping into the jar in her closet where she was saving up for a sword.

Just a couple bills. She’d replace twice as many next payday. That was the deal.

 _Karma for karma_ , a little voice echoed out of her head.

The notes got stuffed in her jacket pocket as she made for the door.

Where going to school required her to go up at the juncture at the end of her bloc, getting to the shop had her descending. Four flights of dreary concrete stairs, the landings littered with trash or pungent with urine. They got worse the closer they got to the street. More accessible for anyone to come and go.

Izumi held onto the railing all the way down, using it to keep from falling whenever her head spun too badly.

Staggering steps carried her into the market. A massive canopy spanned the entire street, canvas diverting the rain away. The sudden dryness was always a bit shocking. She was outside, so it _should_ be wet.

She laughed softly at that.

A fishmonger looked sideways at her.

Izumi kept walking.

Just the fever talking.

The stall was just a bit further in, an oasis of color with its bright red awning and bunting. She stumbled through the curtain and sank onto an empty stool between two men.

“Welcome!” the shopkeep bellowed, waving at her from behind the stove.

Izumi waved a limp hand back. His words were too loud. Her head was thumping worse than before. The color, and the sound, and the smell of eel on the grill, was… just too much.

“Unadon, please,” she said slowly, aiming her question at the shopkeep’s assistant. “And green tea.”

She wasn’t sure what his response was, but she shoved bills at him, and he took them. After a moment, he returned her change, and Izumi let herself slump onto the counter and buried her face in her arms.

The thud of bowl hitting counter woke her. She sat up, just in time for the assistant to draw back from where he’d been about to nudge her.

“Thank you,” Izumi mumbled.

The food was good. Perhaps too heavy on an empty, churning stomach, but it stayed down long enough for her to finish. More importantly, the tea cleared her head and sinuses.

She was just slurping up the last of the eel when a conversation further down the bar caught her ear.

“- in Konoha! I heard Orochimaru rolled in and offed the Hokage,” the man sitting to her right said, gesturing wildly over his fish.

His associate, a woman in a loose robe, rolled her eyes. “Eh. Couldn’t he have at least done us the pleasure of dying too? Snake bastard. I ever tell ya he wiped out my grandad during the war?”

“A thousand times.” The man downed the last of his sake and waved for more. “But Konoha’s a real mess right now. I bet Kumo invades.”

“Don’t say that! We’re right in the middle of it.”

Izumi sat up straight on her stool. _War_. But… she was a ninja. A trainee, yes, but a ninja still. If there was a war, would she get pulled in? It was part of her duty to Ame, but… _War._

“Er… excuse me?” she said softly.

The man glanced around before looking over his shoulder. “Aye? You need the salt or something, sweetie?”

“Do you think there’ll be war?”

The two adults exchanged a dark look.

“Shit, kid,” the woman said. “We were just talking. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t swear in front of the girl!” The man turned to face her fully, his expression placatory. “We were just speculating, yeah? Even if there was a war, it wouldn’t involve us. Ame’s neutral. Nothing to gain from getting involved.”

“I was just wondering,” Izumi said. Her heart was beginning to pound, and every beat sent an unpleasant, echoing throb through her skull. “I’m at Academy now, but… I’m still a ninja, right?”

The man set his drink down, staring. “Fuckin… just a kid.”

“No.” The woman spoke this time, leaning around the man to meet Izumi’s eyes. “ _That_ , you don’t gotta worry about. My nephew’s a chunin. Saotome Yamada, you know him? No? Doesn’t matter. Kids don’t go to war in Ame.”

Izumi frowned. “Sorry?”  
The woman repeated herself. “God’s decree. You’re too young to remember it, but when he took power, there were a lot of kids your age on the front against Konoha. God stopped that. Gotta be at least a fully qualified genin to go into combat, and even then it’s just minor missions. Getting your feet wet. Saotome tells me about it when he’s in town.”

Something stiff and metallic unknotted in Izumi’s spine. She sagged, catching herself on the bar. “That’s… that’s good to hear.”

The adults began talking about the last war, and Izumi politely excused herself.

She tipped, thanked the chef for the meal, and departed.

The climb back up to her apartment was longer than she’d realized. Coming down had been mostly gravity, a controlled fall. Going up was entirely her. Hips and legs and knees working, all off-kilter, moving in a drunken rhythm to send her lurching up a few stairs at a time, then pausing to catch her breath.

She nearly lost her lunch on the third landing, and it was only sheer willpower that kept it down.

The familiar hallway to her apartment appeared after a long while. She wasn’t sure how long it had taken, only that she couldn’t remember the last couple sets of stairs.

Izumi paused on the threshold.

She could go home and go to bed.

Or… she could keep going. Three more levels to the bridge. And the shrine.

If there was a change, or some kind of sign, it would be there.

If she didn’t, she was going to wonder until she did.

More than that though, she needed to.

She sighed and turned toward the up-flight.

The ascent had a dreamlike haze to it. Her head was throbbing painfully now, and her vision swimming and looping erratically.

The open sky above the bridge brought rain, chilly on her burning skin, but enough to clear the haze once more.

She crossed the bridge, feet dragging, toes of her sandals kicking through puddles.

The shrine was unchanged. The statue hadn’t moved. There was no sign of some great passage.

Izumi leaned on the wish box to catch her breath. At least her dumb origami cat was still… was still…

Her return slip was gone.

She stared, wide-eyed for a long moment, her hair slowly growing lank around her face. She slicked her bangs with with her fingers before returning to staring.

Anyone could have taken it, but she knew that it had been the origami woman. It wouldn’t just be some random person.

A smile slowly formed on her lips.

The offering was accepted.

She looked up to meet God’s eyes.

 _Kids don’t go to war in Ame_. _That’s God’s decree._

How many other things had God done, how many mandates had he given that had changed the course of her life?

A fat raindrop splattered the concrete at her feet, ripples forming in one of the puddles.

One action with wide-reaching results.

And… God’s rain covered the entire country. His actions reached an entire people.

Suddenly, the massive golden statue didn’t seem quite grand enough to do him justice.

Izumi pressed her palms together once more.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly, honestly _faithful._

She walked home, savoring the rain, and not even nearly vomiting on the climb down could detract from her mood.

XXX

_Elsewhere_

“Higher up, please. It needs to be over the tenketsu.”

“Here?”

“Mine are a little recessed. A tiny bit to the left- yes, there, perfect.”

The needle was curved, almost fish-hooked, to let it arc smoothly through a loop of skin over his spine. She pressed it through, holding his skin on the other side so that it didn’t deviate.

He was silent, his arms on his knees, his head down as she worked on him. They’d done this enough that he didn’t even hiss at the pain. She had always been surprised that he could even feel pain with this body, but apparently he could. She wished sometimes he hadn’t confided that in her. It made every in-and-out of the needle just a little more guilty.

She withdrew the needle and picked up the chakra receiver from a surgical tray. This one had been constructed as a hinged ring, one end male, one female. Using the needle hole as a guide, she began inserting the receiver. It was… unpleasant, on a visceral level. Like stabbing someone in slow motion.

The male end emerged from the hole, tip sheened with red. She clicked the ring shut and sealed the clasp with a quick burst of fire chakra between her fingertips.

“There. You’ll be able to do the rest yourself?”

He stood, his movements stiff and jerky. She stepped back and waited for him to acclimate.

He rolled his shoulders, then his elbows, wrists, hands, and then fingers, working them individually. The actions repeated, large to small, as he worked out the kinks. It took a few minutes, but he eventually stopped stretching and turned.

“It will do, thank you.” He smiled – and that was always odd – Nagato’s crooked smile on another man’s face. “It’s much less of a strain than using another Path to do the ones I can’t reach.”

“This one is… Animal?”

“Yes.” He flicked the body’s long hanging bangs, still the mint-green color of its original host. “I’ll finish inserting the receivers in a little while. You can go back to your message. Is that from a spy?” He chuckled weakly, his mood light after a successful integration of the new body. “Why in the world did they make it _origami_?”

Konan eyed the letter sitting on the table between them. “That, I’ll have to find out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is ending up surprisingly religious... I do find fictional religions very interesting, but it will shift somewhat as things get moving.
> 
> Largely a chapter about Izumi's internal struggle. The conversation at the restaurant was a late edition, but I think it works well to justify that section. Otherwise it's just a page about Izumi going to dinner. Child soldiers definitely felt like the kinda thing Pain wouldn't be okay with. Dude's kind of a nut, but after growing up as an orphan in a war torn nation, there's no way he's going to go for child soldiers when he doesn't have to. That... that's probably true for all the nations at this point except Mist and Sound.
> 
> It also helps us establish a timeline for where we're at. Not particularly relevant at this point, but it will matter a bit more eventually. Don't expect this to be some giant epic or to segue into the stations of canon, as seen from Ame. That's not what this story is about at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Izumi looks for (information about) love in all the wrong places.

3

“Kerono!”

Izumi jerked to her feet. “Sensei!”

“You were sick yesterday. How’re you feeling?” Ruto Sensei was eyeballing her, his scarred face twisted into its usual frown.

“Alright, I guess?”

“Good. Get in there.” And that was all the warning he had before he shoved her into the ring.

The combat rings in their training hall were about five meters at their widest, marked with a circle of paint on the floor, now scuffed from years of sandaled feet.

Izumi found herself facing Haji, another one of the civilian orphans. She nodded to him, and he returned it, his face impassive.

It was a bad match up. She was a little taller than most of the other girls in class, but he was a full head above her, and well-muscled. She vaguely remembered hearing him mention that he sometimes did manual labor on the side for a quick buck. It meant he had weight and reach on her, a lot of it.

And there was no girl/boy split in combat class. Fighting a bigger, stronger boy was just good training for real life. Izumi scowled. Kicks to the groin were still forbidden though. Lousy, squeamish male teachers.

“Begin!” Ruto barked.

Haji moved in slowly, falling into an open-armed grappling stance. He was going to use his superior weight to try and take her down. And Izumi wasn’t a good grappler. All the writhing and grabbing was just weird and uncomfortable.

He lunged, coming in low to try and knock her off her feet. Izumi dodged to the side, flicking a kick into the back of his knee. Haji grunted, but turned and grabbed for her, nearly seizing her sleeve.

She yelped and fell back a few more steps. Haji rushed again, but she was ready this time. She dropped to a crouch and then leapt straight up in the air, hopping over him like a frog. His momentum carried her under him, and she used her airtime to send both feet into the back of Haji’s head.

He stumbled and then tripped, nearly falling out of the ring.

“Gotcha!” Izumi crowed.

“Get in there, Kerono!” Ruto yelled from the sidelines.

She closed in. She’d missed her opportunity, and Haji was already rising. She aimed a kick at his head, but he caught it on his arm and knocked it away.

They came together and the fight began in earnest. Haji was no longer attempting solely to grapple. Now, he had added grabs and heavy punches to his arsenal. She had to avoid both, after a counterpunch turned into a grab that nearly sent her to the mat.

She flurried kicks at him, aiming for the same spots on his legs and thighs each time, forcing him to divert his punches to block her. Every time he dropped his guard, she’d use the opening to punch at his face.

She was hitting him more, but every one of his blows was enough to rattle her bones, and the single punch that glanced her head sent lights dancing behind her eyes. His strength was too high, compared to hers. This was a contest that would be decided with weapons or jutsu in the real world, but she was allowed neither here.

His endurance was better too. He was breathing lightly, but she was beginning to sweat. The effort of sending hit after hit at him was wearing at her.

He swung, and she ducked and rolled away, creating space between them to think.

This was a taijutsu match, and he had the advantages there for sure. There were things that didn’t matter with how strong you were- joints and weak points like eyes and throat. But she didn’t want to hit those for fear of actually hurting him. This was just training, not a death match.

“Ameno, get in there in and hit her, for God’s sake! She’s not made of glass!” Ruto was still circling the ring like an angry bull, glaring at the both of them.

Something clicked at his words. Izumi smiled thinly.

Buoyed by Ruto’s words, Haji closed in. He jabbed at her face. She blocked. Another jab. Another block. He threw a heavier punch.

She let it through.

An explosion of pain sent the world spinning sideways.

Something hard and flat hit her side, and it took her a moment to realize it was the floor. Izumi groaned. Her nose was full of hot, sick pain, and she could taste the copper of a bloody nose.

“Oh! Oh man, Izumi, are you okay?” Haji said, his voice suddenly high with panic.

His heavy footsteps came towards her.

She rolled over slowly, trying to get her legs under her.

“Izumi?”

“Owww,” she moaned. “By dose.”

Hands brushed her shoulder.

She cracked a watery eye open.

Haji was within arm’s reach, bending awkwardly to look down at her. “Izu-”

Izumi unfolded. She lunged up at him and grabbed Haji around the neck. He had time to gasp before she used his imbalanced stance to pull him over. Haji crashed to the mat and she found herself on top of him.

She pinned his arms with her knees, using her body weight to hold him down, before jabbing her fingers toward his throat. It would be a killing blow in real life, though she was going to stop here and not make contact.

And then Haji sat up. He pressed his hands flat against the floor and curled like he was doing a sit-up. Izumi squeaked as he shook her off like a bug and sent her tumbling to the floor in front of him.

She tried to scramble up, but he was faster. A leg swept hers from underneath her- she’d missed it coming through the waves of pain still radiating through her head, and she hit hard enough that her vision rolled and keeled for an instant.

Big hands caught hers- both in one of his, and his knee drove into her midsection. Izumi wheezed as he knocked the breath out of her. Haji held her flat, his weight and her windedness enough to keep her down.

“Match over,” Ruto called. “Winner, Ameno.”

“Sorry,” Haji said. He pulled away, then helped her up. Izumi let him. Her balance had taken a leave of absence, and it was hard to focus with her sinuses full of blood. “Didn’t mean to whack you like that.”

“Who can tell me what Kerono did wrong?” Ruto was facing the rest of the class now, hands on hips. “How about what she did right? Or the same for Ameno?”

“He used his strength to his advantage,” someone said.

“He out-weighs her,” said someone else. “But she doesn’t weigh enough to pin him.”

“All true,” Ruto said, nodding. “What else? Kerono, any thoughts?”

She sniffed, clutching a workout towel to her gushing nose. “When I play possum because I got hurt… don’t actually get hurt.”

“Almost. Kerono’s idea was sound. She played off Ameno’s expectations. Girls, this is a technique you can and will use. Men will underestimate women. They will pull their punches- speaking of which, Ameno, pull your punches against a girl again and I’ll have you fighting kunoichi until your balls drop off!”

Haji blanched. “Yes, sensei.”

“Turn an injury into an opportunity,” Ruto continued. “It was a good strategy. She forced him to approach on her terms, and had we been using weapons, he would have lost. Kerono’s _other_ mistake was that if you intend to fake an injury, don’t let your physically stronger opponent deck you right in the face!” He pointed toward the door. “Kerono, nurse’s office. The rest of you, pair off for sparring drills.”

XXX

As it turned out, Haji had broken her nose.

The school med-nin unbroke it, his palms humming with green healing chakra, and then slapped a stiff bandage over it to hold it in place. He gave her a list of all the things she would need to do to recover from her healing, ended it with “And don’t get hit in the face for at least a week,” and then sent her off.

Izumi stumbled out of the office, still sniffling through sinuses just beginning to unclot. Somehow, healing hadn’t done much for the actual pain, and her whole face ached, hot bolts radiating out from her nose to run through her jaw.

This week was officially terrible.

Her next class was the last of the day, but it was just history, and it wasn’t like that was going anywhere.

“’m going home,” she muttered thickly. She was just beginning to trudge toward the exit when there were footsteps behind her.

“Kerono!”

Izumi turned, just in time to catch Haji flinching at the sight of her bandage.

“Yeah?”

He rubbed the back of his head, his eyes on the floor. “Just- just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“My face hurts.”

“Sorry.”

“Shouldn’t have gotten hit like that.” She rubbed her face gingerly. It wasn’t swelling, but it was probably going to bruise. “It was dumb.”

“Yeah.” Haji blinked. “Not that I mean that you’re dumb, I just mean that- that- you know?”

She looked at him. Talking made her face hurt.

She shrugged again.

Haji seemed to read her right though, because his shoulders relaxed.

“Do you mind if I walk with you for a bit?”

“Why?” He still had class.

“You’re going home, right? You’re hurt, and I dunno… it didn’t seem right?”

Izumi shrugged again. “If you want.”

She hefted her bag over one shoulder and started toward the doors again. Haji was quick to move to her side, only to slow down to match her much shorter stride.

It was only after they passed out into the misty afternoon humidity that she turned her attention on him once more.

“So… What do you want?”

Haji stuttered to a stop, and she could see the excuse forming on his lips. Izumi glared, and she held up his hands.

“Alright! I wanted to ask you something.”

His eyes dropped again, and- was he blushing?

“I didn’t want to like… ask you in front of everyone else. It’s embarrassing.”

Oh _no_. Was he confessing to her? This was how it went in the books. A couple alone in some quiet location, and the boy would blurt out his feelings and- no no no _noooo!_

A shrill, panicked noise like a tea kettle escaped her.

“Can you help me ask someone out!?” Haji yelled, his face now glowing.

“I’m engaged!” Izumi shrieked. “Arranged to a rich noble- wait, what?”

They both stared. Her murky green eyes squinting into his blue.

“Are you really?” he asked.

Only in certain nighttime fantasies about arranged marriages to lusty foreign princesses.

“...no.” The rest of what he said trickled through. “You… wanted me to help you confess to someone?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Why?”

“You sit next to Hajime-san. And uh- you’re a girl, so I figured you’d have a lot of knowledge about romance and stuff? All my friends are guys, and they’re kinda… dumb about sappy stuff like that.”

The face to match the name came to her. Hajime Mikoto was the girl who sat to her immediate left. She was a clan kid from a fairly well-to-do family, and she and Izumi had never spoken beyond ‘I dropped my eraser, can I use yours?’ levels of conversation.

Hajime was not only a fairly decent kunoichi, well-off, but also very, very pretty. Like, distractingly so. There was a definite reason Izumi had always chosen the boy to her right whenever they had to pair up in class. Hajime was all soft, golden hair and amber eyes, and way _way_ out of her league.

And Haji’s.

Izumi repeated this thought to him. To his credit, Haji nodded.

“I know. It’s just… I need to at least try. She’s rich, and I’m just a dumbass orphan loser. I’m so low that I don’t even have a real last name. But I can’t think of anything else but blurting it out. And girls are supposed to know romance stuff, and you’re the only girl I know.”

That wasn’t quite it, and they both knew it. He was talking to her because Izumi was one of the only civilian kunoichi in class. Socially, they were on the same strata.

“What’s in it for me?” As much as her heart fluttered at the idea of true love and all that, her nose was still clogged with dried blood, and the bandage was making all her words nasally. She wanted nothing better than to go home and forget today, forget getting hit, or writing letters, or stealing from shrines.

“I- I hadn’t gotten that far,” Haji said.

She tapped a finger against her lips while she thought. “You know any jutsu outside what they teach?”

“Nope.”

“Any unusual combat styles? Chakra tricks? Secret ninja magic?”

“Nope. No, and- wait.” He blinked. “Ninja magic? I thought I could maybe just… do your homework for a week or something?”

“I think I’m a higher class rank than you.” Izumi frowned. They’d been talking long enough that she honestly did kind of want to help him now. He was just so _earnest._ “How about… I help you, and you’ll owe me one?”

“Deal!”

“And you owe me one regardless of if she says no or not.”

Haji hesitated for only an instant before shouting “Deal!” again.

They shook hands, and the bargain was struck.

The tall boy grinned from ear to ear at her. “Thank you, Kerono-san. I really appreciate it. I- oh man, this is gonna be big. Can we do it today?”

“My face hurts, Ameno. Tomorrow. We can meet… we can eat lunch together?”

“That’d be great.”

XXX

Their conversation came to a close, and Haji zoomed off with a speed that belied his size, practically floating on a cloud of gooey romantic thoughts.

Izumi waved and set off on the long walk home.

Somehow, the pain in her nose had eased a bit, and her steps felt a little bit lighter. And wasn’t that lame? One conversation with someone was all it took for her to get emotionally invested, even though she couldn’t have picked Haji out of a line-up before today.

It was still funny that he’d thought she’d know anything about romance. Her experiences in that department were limited to her erotica collection, and the few pulp romance novels she used to pad her bookshelf. Confessing to someone was… how did that even work? Like, she knew how it worked in books, and on tv, but that wasn’t real.

Izumi stopped in the middle of a sky-bridge.

“Shit.”

She had absolutely no idea how to ask someone out.

“Shiiitttt.”

If Haji was going to use what she told him to ask out Mikoto, then… when Mikoto said no, it would be like _both_ of them got shot down. This was going to be a disaster. She was going to get turned down by the first person she ever technically asked out, and wouldn’t that just be a wonderful omen for future relationships.

“Oh God, I’m going to die alone.”

A few passing citizens looked oddly at her as she moaned with self-loathing and slumped against the bridge railing.

She ought to just give up now and go find the Cat summoning contract.

Images of herself, dying alone and surrounded by cats, a desolate, decrepit, 60-year old spinster virgin followed her the rest of the way across town.

She paused at the shrine, glancing over to see if there was another origami token, but there wasn’t.

With that note of despair, she dragged herself home and fell face first into her futon.

 

XXX

 

Morning brought with it a fresh view on things. And a gloriously purple bruise across the center of her face.

But it didn’t matter- Izumi had an idea.

If Haji succeeded, it would mean that Izumi had the chops to ask out a girl. If she had the skills, it would give her the guts to actually do it. Not Mikoto, mind, there was reaching, and then there was social-insanity, but she would be _able_ ask a girl out.

Haji had to succeed.

She rose from her futon, a phoenix in froggy-print pajamas. “I need to learn about romance.”

And when you needed to learn something, you went to the experts.

XXX

“Onee-san, please, teach me about love!”

The prostitute sitting behind the counter of ‘Love You Long Time’ stared at her.

Izumi stayed where she was, bent double in a bow. “Please!”

“Kid, you’re not old enough for that. And-” The woman squinted, taking in Izumi’s faded gray kimono top and patched pants. “You probably don’t have the dough for it either.”

Izumi shot up, a blush lighting her cheeks like a sunset. “Not like that!” she squealed. “I meant like love-love. Not sex stuff. I need to help my classmate ask someone out.”

“Oh.” The whore blinked silver-rouged eyelids at her. “Why didn’t you just say so? Dating is easy. Take it from me, kiddo. Easiest way to land a man is to put out. Or, make him think he’s going to get some.”

“Ew. And no, my classmate is a guy, asking out a girl.”

There was a pause, and then the woman leaned a little closer, squinting at her again. “You’re not this guy’s pimp, are you?”

“He’s my classmate.”

“That’s not a no,” the woman said, smirking at her. “But that’s easy too. Women like men with a lot of money. Your little boy-toy got a lotta cash?”

“No.”

“Then you know where to start.” A pause, as she inspected her lime-green nails. “You gonna buy something, or just keep standing there?”

Izumi left.

It was way too early in the day for the redlight to have any real traffic- she’d ditched her first class of the day to come here, and she moved easily through the rest of the aisles to the exit.

What the woman had said rankled her. It wasn’t so- so _cynical_ as all that. Sure, having money was nice. Izumi would love to have enough money that she didn’t have to squeeze her entire budget into the minuscule stipend she got as a junior kunoichi and an orphan.

But there was more to it. It wasn’t all just money and wealth. Love was more genuine than that.

Real love- _true_ love, was emotional and deep and… she wasn’t really sure. She’d never been in love before. Lust, sure, but never love.

She sighed. If she’d wanted a real answer, she should have asked someone else. What whores dealt in wasn’t real. It was just… physical. Lust, but not love.

But that just made it worse. Because there was no one she could actually talk to about love. This was the kind of thing girls were supposed to ask their mothers.

Izumi sighed again. Being an orphan was something she was used to. Never know anything else, and it becomes the norm. But she was feeling the lack of parents fairly keenly at the moment.

XXX

On a whim, she doubled back and went to speak to the old man who ran the erotic bookstore.

His advice was about as useful as the prostitute’s.

 _“_ _My wife ran off with a rich eel-salesman from Iwa. Never fall in love. Just makes it easier for them to break your heart.”_

Okay, the redlight as a whole was probably a bad source for romance advice.

Izumi ended up leaving to scuttle down the stairs to the lower market. She revisited the food stall she’d eaten at when she was ill.

The old man running that was… oddly familiar.

 _“_ _Don’t fall in love, lass. My brother’s wife ran off with an eel-salesman, and mine left me to join a commune of lesbians. Nothing but trouble, the lot of them. You- never grow up to lead a man on. Just find yourself a nice man with a stable business and learn to be happy with that.”_

XXX

Her footsteps were heavy, and her thighs burning by the time she abandoned her quest to make her way toward school. Ame had too many freaking stairs. No easy, convenient elevators, no sir. That would be too easy.

She grabbed her stuff from her apartment and locked up. It was nearly time for her second class, chakra training, and she wanted to be there. Ninjutsu was something she was pretty sure she was actually talented at. Not like stupid taijutsu…

Izumi checked her watch. And she needed to hurry if she wanted to get there. She threw herself into a run, burning chakra to wipe away fatigue from all the stairs. The rain blurred around her as she shot across the first bridge and-

A flash of white in the corner of her eye.

She skidded to a halt, sandals kicking up arcs of water as she stopped.

An origami lotus was tucked in the corner of the prayer box.

XXX

She made it to second period with seconds to spare, hurling herself into the closest open seat and nearly careening into the person sitting next to her.

The bell rang.

Sensei Mikami entered, the bells in her hair jingling softly.

“Today, we will be discussing the mechanics of chakra conversion and...”

The words drifted away into a vague buzz.

Izumi stared feverishly at the flower cradled in her lap.

Another message.

She plucked at a petal, intending to unravel this one piece by piece like she had the other, but it came apart all at once. One bit of impetus was enough to tug the entire fragile thing open.

It unfolded.

A single sheet of marked paper at the center of the blossom.

 _“_ _It was a pleasant and unexpected surprise to find my letter missing, and yours in its place. An unusual way to treat a shrine, but I find myself glad you did. You are kind to feel the way you do,_ _and to offer to sacrifice your happiness for mine_ _, but this is my burden to bear._ _Suffering is not a fair trade. There is no give and take. If it were that easy to take away the pain of others, I would have eased my beloved’s long ago._

_These notes at the shrine were my way of consoling myself, of easing some of the tension by writing anonymously. I never expected to receive a response, but yours has done more than any ten of mine._

_Please feel free to write back. It helps me to have someone to speak to, and I think you may feel much the same._ _It does not matter what topics you choose. Any diversion is pleasant._ _”_

Izumi had to reread it three times before the message truly sank in.

The origami woman wasn’t angry at her for stealing. She was actually happy. And she wanted Izumi to keep writing, to keep snatching letters and posting her own.

She glanced down, looking for a name at the bottom. The space was marked, but not with a name. A curling, elegant drawing of a rose.

“Wow,” she whispered.

Whoever this lady was, she was _cool_.

She looked up for a second. Mikage was sketching a diagram of the chakra cycle on the board. Nothing she hadn’t seen before.

Izumi turned her attention back to the letter. After a moment, she pulled a piece of paper from her notebook and began writing.

If she’d thought her return letter, written in the pouring rain during a religious crisis, was tense, this one was like trying to crack a safe while wearing earmuffs. Every word needed to be perfect, every letter written with flawless calligraphy. It needed to be smart and adult- no not adult. _Mature_.

This was a grown woman she was writing to. Being a snot-nosed brat had gotten her into this situation, but she was going to use her head to get out.

She was halfway through her ninth attempt when new lines appeared on the page. She’d hardly realized what she was writing until it was fully formed, her pen resting on the final mark.

_I have a friend who wants to ask a girl out. I’m not good with romance, but this is really important._

_Can you tell me about love?_


End file.
